


impress me//good luck

by PersephoneHemingway



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Casino Royale AU, Cryptozoology by Patrick Stump, Dirty Talk, F/M, Femme Fatale, Gambling, Hotel Sex, Non-Guardian AU, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Poker, Reader-Insert, Strangers to Lovers, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:48:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26893957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersephoneHemingway/pseuds/PersephoneHemingway
Summary: a drifter and a lady shake it up at a high-stakes poker tournament
Relationships: The Drifter (Destiny)/Reader, The Drifter (Destiny)/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	impress me//good luck

**Author's Note:**

> okay y'all all my poker experience is James Bond and the World Series of Poker app on my phone, and the only variety I know is Texas Hold ‘em, so bear with me.

You were a rising star in high-stakes poker. Your daddy had run a business empire until his untimely (but honestly predictable) death—(that's what happens when your success is built upon an international crime syndicate).

The company went to your elder sister. You didn't mind. You were just daddy's bastard daughter with too much money and too much time.

It kept you safe; you couldn't complain.

&

Let's call it _Casino Royale_. The official tournament title was much more obnoxious, and who doesn't love a Bond movie?

You'd already played enough to qualify for the final table. Now you were nursing your drink at the bar and watching an enigmatic stranger play his cards _so right_.

He was clearly an outsider.

He wore all black but none of the blacks matched. It’s not something you would’ve noticed if you hadn’t been looking so close—most others were distracted by his obnoxiously colorful and setting-inappropriate headband or the gun shoved down the front of his pants. (Not that the gun was uncommon in this setting, you were armed too— but you couldn’t fathom why anyone would choose to store their firearm in such a precarious—and frankly, obnoxious— way).

At this particular moment, he seemed to be hastily backtracking on whatever he’d said or done to offend his opponent so thoroughly. He’d stood, hands up in surrender, slowly backing away from the little side table where he’d won his game—fairly or unfairly. It wasn’t that the guy looked like he wouldn’t win a fistfight, but he looked like the kind of guy who stirs up enough trouble that he’d rather dodge every conflict he could to save the energy for some other potential (self-imposed) disaster he’d have to deal with later in the day.

Eavesdropping? _Guilty._

"Can't blame me for dipping in the dark side for an advantage, brother. Misleadin' ain't cheatin'."

The aforementioned _cheated_ party looked nearly feral; his friend, or uncle, or someone just barely older and wiser dragged him away to prevent the confrontation.

Once free, the stranger approached you. He must've seen you watching him. Or he was watching you. You waited.

He stood in the space between where you sat and the next empty chair, back leaning against the bar, pretending not to be interested in what he came over here for (you). It was almost like for the first time in his life, he’d decided this was the moment when he’d finally let someone else break the silence. Fine; you caved.

“You’re being remarkably quiet for someone who can talk themselves into a win so easily,”

He responded like someone who was just waiting for you to say _anything_ so he could chime in with his piece.

"I can tell you've got a little dark side in you too."

You rolled your eyes, but were willing to let the silvertongue sing.

"Yeah? How so?"

"You need me to tell you? You must be new to this."

You scoff. "I'm just calling your bluff, stranger. You come to me and say you know my tell. What, should I be afraid? _Your_ tells tell me you're a liar and a trick. A rattler. My knowing this doesn't change a thing. You're still a snake, and you can still bite me." He looked _impressed._ It was unsettling. You went on. "So, you either see me or you don't. It doesn't matter— I am what I am. So tell me, what do you see?"

His grin was all teeth. "I see competition, sister. Meet you at the last table." He was holding back, you knew.

"See you when you see me."

He turned away a bit puzzled, though he wouldn't show it.

You kept your composure as you checked the time and made a smooth detour to the ladies' room. A quick check for legs and you found herself clutching the marble of the sink until your fingers creaked in protest. You locked eyes with your reflection and breathed in. Breathed out. Breathed in.

&

You both find yourselves facing the other, obviously.

Did you really enter and not expect yourself to end up at the final table? No; you’re a wizard with this…

You know he's a gambler at heart. It’s clear in his every decision, every movement he makes, his whole presentation—even only knowing him over the course of the tournament, that’s clear. You know that he knows you like to impress. That you usually like to show your best. That you don't like to step forward without certainty, or a plan B. You were a _straight shooter_ , some would say. You know he's the opposite. Thrives on uncertainty. You know that he's taken to you. He's interested. He wants to impress you. He's also confident, and for good reason.

He’s all in.

He doesn't expect you to _really_ go on a bluff—how could you? You weren’t good because you were bold, you were good because you were _quiet._ You didn’t just throw it all on risks and gut feelings.

So risk it is just what you do, knowing there’s a chance he's probably bluffing too.

Let's say he was sitting on a real shit hand, betting on his confidence to scare you into folding—you could be fucked, but you're risking it on doing the last thing Drifter expects you to do: wing it.

_6, 7, A, 3._

_Six of Hearts, Seven of Spades, Ace of Hearts, Three of Clubs…_

You stayed in, against your better judgement.

You were holding a pair of 4s—hearts and spades. How telling. You hoped Drifter couldn’t see you sweat.

The portly man to the Drifter’s left swipes his hand down his mouth and frowns, then folds. He’s done—not enough left for the next hand, and not willing to leave the table empty-handed. He gathers his chips, scoots his chair back, and leaves with a grumble.

Showdown.

Drifter looked unsettled, unable to intuit the outcome through the vibe set by your uncharacteristic gameplay. The fog was clearing for him, but still he knew: _it was all up to luck, now._ The dealer burned a card, then flipped the river.

 _Four of Diamonds_.

You shot the Drifter a wicked smile.

He nearly flinched.

He showed his cards without breaking eye contact with you. Distantly you both heard the call _"Two pair, 7s and 4s,"_ before you slid your cards to the dealer through the static.

He flipped them, and you saw a bead of sweat roll down Drifter's face from beneath his headband. You could've _laughed_ in any other circumstance.

" _Three of a kind, 4s."_ the shock you expected from him never broke across the Drifter's expression, instead, _"The game goes to Ms. (L/N)..."_ his teeth were bared with a startling _pride_ and _hunger_ that you felt as an internal shiver building to a quake—outwardly, you were shock-still.

His eyes darted to the cards and yours followed, the thrill of the win finally flooding your body in a dramatic action where you pulled all the chips from the center into your tablespace.

_"How 'bout a round, friends?"_

&

After your celebratory round and the subsequent cashing of your remaining chips into a direct bank transfer, you dragged yourself to the elevator.

You were coming down off your adrenaline high, and the Drifter took advantage of your inattention.

He came up behind you and pressed his body close, hands on your shoulders as if familiar.

"That's my girl,"

_Oh, you’d like to be his girl. When had you felt such a pull to anyone else?_

When the elevator opened, he used his hips to push you in before him, hit the button to close the doors early, then returned his attentions to you. You’d finally worked yourself up to a half-hearted response.

“Not your girl…” He ignored you; (you were glad).

His breath ghosted past your ear and goosebumps erupted. He smoothed down your upper arms, sides, and hips.

"I knew you had it in you."

You shifted with a jerk, indiscreetly trying to dislodge his hand from your hip closer to your center instead. He belly laughed and dragged his palm up and down your inner thigh as much as your dress' fabric allowed.

"Got a room?"

"I’m assuming you don’t? Sixth floor.” He rested his head on your shoulder and leaned over to hit six.

“It’s a bit of a motivator to find someone to spend the night with when I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Cocky,”

“Confident,”

“Full of it,”

“All for you,”

You couldn’t stop yourself—a sharp intake of breath at his words, very telling. You nudged yourself back into him as if asking permission. You don’t know why you didn’t just turn and take him by the lips.

He pulled you closer and you felt it at your back— his gun, and something more.

"You not gonna ask who I am?"

"You want me to?"

"No."

"Then no. Do the same for me?"

"Yeah." _As if you’re some big secret._

The elevator was long gone as you shook your ass at him down the hallway. Your keycard slid green and he pushed you in, letting the heavy door slam shut behind him.

You both set your guns down on the dresser (you regretted that you didn’t pull his yourself; he might’ve felt the same when he saw where you were keeping yours). You nodded, then turned your back to him and lifted your hair, exposing the zipper of your dress.

You let him hump you into the dresser as he unzipped you, then you turned in his arms as the dress gathered at your feet.

He had that same smug look on his face you now knew never left him, and he met your gaze even as you leaned to shyly brush your lips across his. They were chapped and chewed, like yours underneath the lipstick. You knew he knew, too.

He hovered over you, back and forth, gifting sharp little kisses as he whispered from ear to ear.

“You pretend to be so _demure_ — you like it when they underestimate you, don’t you? Makes you feel _so so good_ when you _beat them into the ground_.”

You were all little breaths and startled gasps. He nipped an earlobe.

“You’re no pretty princess.”

Then the other.

“More like _femme fatale,_ ”

He ran his tongue down your neck from your ear, picked a spot, and sucked _hard_ , releasing you with a wet pop. You were panting.

“Don’t know why they can’t see it coming— they all know you; I can tell you’re a regular, you run this circuit.”

He pulled back to see your face, squinting as he looked you in the eyes.

“And yet they’re fooled by you _every time_.”

His lips touched every syllable in his analysis. It was almost hypnosis— and you weren’t going to be the only one in a trance.

“May-be, I’m just, th-that good..”

_Nice stutter, (Y/N), real domme, real in control._

“Oh, I’m sure you’re plenty _good_ , card shark.”

Your eyes shuttered closed on a reflex.

“Hm? You gonna be good for me?”

You bit your lip and gave a small, quick nod.

He whisked you toward the bed and your body complied.

Having the Drifter’s full attention on you was an event in itself— he was a man of many hands; you imagine it’s not often he allows his time to be so singularly devoted. You wanted to make it worth it.

You opened your eyes. You kneed him in the stomach (to his displeased grunt) and rolled him over and off the bed, trying to pin a leg with your shin. You didn’t know shit about grappling, but figured he’d like the fight as much as you did.

“Now that wasn’t very nice,”

You were looking at him like you were some kind of champion, and he couldn’t have that.

“Thought we agreed this was going one, two.” He pointed to himself, then at you.

“And what? Did you think I was just gonna roll over and take it?”

“Well, suppose I figured you might’ve needed a bit of humblin’.”

“As if you knew anything about humility.”

He looked a little wicked then, and you sucked in the side of your cheek.

You’d never stopped the way you moved against each other, easing along the anticipation of wanting to get off.

Soon, your hips cracked into one another’s and you both winced. When you reached down to rub at your hip bone, Drifter took the opportunity to roll back on top.

You tried and failed to take out one of his legs to roll him back beneath you, but just ended up grinding more and more against where he wanted you. Eventually you maneuvered your legs in such a way that your hips were suspended by your legs crossed clinging to him. He made a tense noise when you started to suck his neck. His body was caving— slowly, you coaxed him under you; though he stayed propped up on his arms. You dug yourself into him— as if trying to crawl inside his skin. It was wet, and it was possessive, and it was _yours_.

“ _Yeah, you like that, don’t you_?”

At some point, you’d managed to drag his pants down to his knees, working to claim his cock. You trapped him between your thighs, arched back, and _squeezed_. The Drifter groaned as his elbows gave out and he fell flat onto his back.

He was quick to recover, though, as he shifted all his weight to one arm so he could bring his other to curl around your side. Your taunts would not go unanswered— (though his voice strained).

“’Course I like a gal with fight in her— nothing wrong with being on bottom; can’t even say I’ve never taken it receiving myself,”

His eyes cleared, and he pushed his tongue into his cheek. He shoved his hand into your panties and dipped into your pussy before swirling up to your clit. He soon pulled his hand from you and shoved his fingers into your mouth.

With his newfound grip on your jaw, he tried to force you over onto your belly. You didn’t make it easy, even as you slobbered over his hand.

He was able to get the advantage when your grappling knocked a standing lamp to break on the floor— you were surprised enough for him to successfully pin you on your back.

“ _But I do love coming out on top_.”

Straining your neck to take as much of his fingers as you could, you sucked yourself off of him without ever looking away from his eyes— you could see how his arousal spiked in his pupils.

You let his fingers slip from you and rest on the tip of your tongue for a second so you could say— “That’s fine. As long as you don’t mind me coming under you.”— before swallowing him back up like you’d been wanting to all night.

The Drifter used his other hand to pull your panties to the side and push himself into you all in one motion. You cried out, arched up, then _bit him_.

He hissed while scraping his fingers from your mouth.

He landed a light slap to your cheek, enough for you to startle with a gasp, then pushed the side of your face into the carpet, cheeks squished, as he pounded into you.

You felt the floor becoming you in every thrust.

You half-heartedly scratched at the side of his face, but really didn’t want him to interpret any part of your behavior as displeased when you were _so, so pleased_.

You allowed yourself a moment to just _take it_ before you figured your reputation needed to make a comeback.

It went back and forth through the night— sweat dripping, then cooling— drawing you back to the bed under sheets, falling back to the floor because you couldn’t help yourselves—

With blankets tangled around your waists, you rode him hard in front of the bay window, the shadow of you coming atop him eclipsing the room.

You crashed together; you cracked apart.

You shook.

&

You lay in the dim glow of the city lights through the window, fingers brushing lightly across chests and through hair.

"You know darl, maybe they should call you earthquake." You gave him a funny look.

"You come outta nowhere, and you're absolutely devastating when you do."

Your eyes crinkled up and you headbutted him gently.

Your grin was all teeth.

**Author's Note:**

> *panics needing to finish pending drifter fics bc destiny updated and there might be content i’m going to miss bc i'm too distracted playing the witcher 3*  
> go ahead, tell me my priorities are out of order


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